Too Far Gone
by Simon920
Summary: AU. What might happen if Bruce finally crossed over to the dark side of himself. The first chapter contains a death but none of the good guys. Read with confidence.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: This starts with a death that sets up the plot. Not to worry, it's none of the good guys. You may read with confidence.

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Too Far Gone Part One**

"Dick, you ready to go?"

"Yeah, sure, just about. What's the hurry, something up?"

Bruce pulled his cowl into place. "There's a new report that Catwoman is out again; I'd say she's probably going to try for that big jewelry exhibit over at the auction house."

"Why there?"

"They have a number of Cartier pieces…"

Dick nodded as he finished getting into his gloves. "Of course; panther bracelets, leopard pins—I get it."

"Right, let's go."

Twenty minutes later they were in position on the roof across the street from Christie's Auction House, the Batmobile hidden in a warehouse around the corner. Waiting.

It was after ten, the streets weren't quite empty, a few stragglers wandered around after a late dinner or movie. Quiet talking between the pedestrians, car doors slammed closed. The city was shutting down and going to bed for the night, or most of it was, at any rate. There were always the bars, the midnight films, the parties in clubs and private homes. There were always people around. This was Gotham, after all; the city that never sleeps.

They waited.

An hour went by. It was getting chilly and Robin used his cape as a blanket. Maybe Alfred could line the thing with thinsulate or something this winter.

The two of them didn't speak, Batman, never chatty, hated to have his concentration broken unless it directly involved the case they were on or some kind of emergency. Robin knew the rules.

Another twenty minutes passed, the light breeze got stronger and the temperature dropped another ten degrees as they crouched, hidden by shadows. Robin felt his leg cramping, trying to stretch as silently as he could but still earning a dirty look for his efforts. He tried isometrics to ease his right thigh and back, rubbing his hands together to try to get the feeling back into his fingers.

It was after midnight, the traffic was almost gone, no one was walking the sidewalks other than a few stragglers.

They'd been here for two and a half hours.

By one-thirty Robin was starting to think that the stakeout had been a wash, that they'd be leaving soon and was secretly looking forward to the warmth of the Batmobile and getting into his own bed. Five-thirty always came around too early and he knew he had to put in at least an hour in the gym before breakfast every day before school. He was getting tired. He saw Batman shift and, thinking this was the signal to head down to the car and back to the barn, he straightened up, stretching and he stood. "Man, that was a waste of time, I thought I was frozen down in that crouch…"

The boy barely heard the soft scuff of feet about forty feet behind them before he was tackled from the side; Batman had him flat on his stomach as the shots started hitting the bricks above them, splinters flying. Then pushed and rolling behind a chimney as Batman's weight was suddenly off him. He continued the last roll into a ready stance on his feet, ready to enter the fight. He heard the sounds of fists—grunts, falling, bodies hitting solid walls and bouncing to hit the rooftop.

A stocky man, one of the henchmen tried to grab him from behind, a simple roundhouse kick putting him out as Robin spun, more than holding his own as he took down the four grown men who were left. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Batman giving chase over the side of the building, disappearing over the edge of the roof, batline shooting across the street and allowing him to cut off whoever was getting away. The rest of the gang tied and under control, Robin called in the local police to do clean up then ran to make sure Batman had the situation on the ground under control. Looking over the edge he stopped cold, staring down the five stories to the sidewalk.

Swinging down on his own line he landed lightly a few feet away. Batman was on the concrete, holding an unconscious Catwoman, blood clearly pooling and running to the gutter. Pulling out his radio again, Robin called in 911 and after asking for an ambulance STAT, knelt down.

"Is she badly hurt?"

Batman nodded, saying nothing, his breath coming out as steam in the frigid air.

"I called for medical help." They heard sirens coming closer. "The local cops; clean up." The explanation was unnecessary. "What happened?"

"She slipped, fell from the roof. I tried to catch her but I missed." It was said quietly; Robin knew he'd had a crush on Catwoman for a few years and they'd spared and flirted as long as he had known them both and they shared a grudging respect for each other. The last few months he'd started to think it went further than just a flirtation and this seemed to confirm it. Batman wasn't just holding her, he was embracing her.

He couldn't see her breath in the winter air.

Robin glanced to the right as the GCPD police got out of their cars. "Five suspects are on the roof and contained, we'll give our reports later. An ambulance is coming for her." He nodded towards the figure still being held by Batman.

A few moments later the paramedics were checking her pulse, bagging her, checking her injuries and finally getting out the defibrillator, trying to get her heart beating again. The medic leaned over with his stethoscope, listened. "Charge, again." They tried four times before giving up and moved to place her on the stretcher.

"No." Batman stopped them and tried himself, tried CPR. It went on for long minutes, two, three four, five. There was no response. Robin stood to the side out of the way, watching until the paramedics looked to him for help. He moved closer and touched a shoulder. "Batman." No response, no acknowledgement.

"Batman, stop."

Nothing, just the rhythmic pumping to get her heart started, keep the blood flowing.

The boy put his hand on Batman's, physically trying to remove it, stop what was happening but he was thrown off. He tried again; again he was thrown back, this time violently and he staggered before regaining his balance. The pumping went on, ten minutes, eleven. In the background, the radio crackled something that didn't sound like English but probably was.

Finally Robin took Batman's wrist in his hand again and, gently this time and with steady pressure, managed to pull it away. Batman sat back on his heels, defeated and not watching as the EMT's lifted her, placed her on the gurney, loaded her into the ambulance and closed the doors. Batman remained where he was, unseeing, as they pulled down the street.

"Come on Batman, it's time to go home."

Silently, Batman stood, walked to the Batmobile and got into the passenger seat. Taking his cue, Robin got behind the wheel and drove them home. Neither said anything and when the car was parked in the cave Batman got out, changed into street clothes and walked up the long staircase, disappearing into his suite.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Too Far Gone**

**Part Two**

"The noted criminal known as Catwoman, identified as Selina Kyle, was pronounced dead on arrival at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Hospital early this morning, her death apparently caused by a fall from a rooftop while attempting to steal part of a jewelry exhibit at Christie's Auction House. More on this developing story later in the broadcast…"

'So that explains it'. Alfred pushed the mute button on the TV remote. Miss Kyle's death was the reason for Bruce's mood last night, the fact that it had continued through breakfast and his departure to Wayne Enterprises Headquarters for a meeting. It also told him why Dick had been so subdued and off his feed before school today. Well it was understandable, of course. A death is always difficult, especially when it was someone you knew, even if, in this case, the victim was a career criminal.

And yes, the Master seemed to have something of a soft spot for her, but that could easily be explained away due to the fact they'd been adversaries for so many years. It stood to reason they had developed some kind of professional relationship and naturally Bruce would be upset by last evening's events.

He shook his head as he placed the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. It was sad, criminal or not, she had been an intelligent young woman who might still have been rehabilitated to live a productive life. Alfred put the used napkins into the laundry shoot, such a waste of a life.

* * *

Sitting in English class, Dick Grayson's mind was wandering back to last night. Of course he knew that Bruce had a thing for Selina, but still…and sure her getting killed like that was a shock but she was a criminal and that was always a possibility, right? They weren't playing games, this was real life with real consequences; they all knew that going in. Sometimes someone got killed; it was part and parcel of what they did.

Still, she did die right there in Bruce's arms and he'd come back to the cave with her blood on him, but he'd get over it, he always did. It may take a little time, but he would.

He was tough—who was tougher than Batman?

He'd be okay. Of course he would.

* * *

Dick went down to dinner when Alfred called him on the intercom. He'd just been finishing his homework in preparation for that night's patrol, he'd put in almost an hour in the gym to make sure he was sharp after last night and he'd roughed out the agenda for the Teen Titan's meeting for tomorrow.

Going into the small dining room, he was surprised to see just one plate on the table, set at his usual place. "Where's Bruce?"

"The Master informed me that he isn't hungry this evening and will be downstairs working when you're ready to join him later. He suggested that seven-thirty would be acceptable, if that meets your approval."

"Yeah, sure. Hey, you mind if I just eat out in the kitchen? I hate sitting here all by myself; I feel like a feudal lord or something."

"I would enjoy your company, Master Dick, if you wouldn't mind eating with an old man."

"No more than you mind eating with a kid." Dick smiled at him, his sadness from last nights events largely put behind him already as he looked forward to whatever was in store for tonight.

Carrying the boy's plate while Dick picked up his glass of milk and silverware, Alfred marveled yet again at the resiliency in the young man, his ability to put things—even tragedies in perspective and move forward, to not dwell on the down side of life. He was a remarkable personality and one he wished with all his heart that Bruce would take a few lessons from.

Dinner over, Dick went downstairs, as the cave was usually referred to. He changed into his Robin costume, wishing again that it came with thermal everything since it was in the low twenties again and went searching for Bruce, surprised that he wasn't at the computer or working out or something along those lines. Moving further back into the main cavern, he flicked on some lights and was startled to see that Batmobile already gone and the smell of exhaust fresh—he hadn't been gone very long. Odd, it wasn't like Batman to just go without him, not even leaving a note or some kind of message.

Well, okay. He pulled out his cell phone and pushed the AutoDial, it was answered almost instantly.

"Yes?"

"Where are you? You want me to meet you someplace or something?"

"Not tonight, I have things under control."

"But…" The connection was broken. He tried to call back but was dumped in voice mail. Well, okay, so Bruce was still upset, it was understandable but this was still a little strange. So…at something of a loss as to what to do with himself, Dick changed back into his street clothes and headed back upstairs; it looked like he had the night off. Taking himself back up to the main house he was going to finish that English essay that was due at the end of the week then changed his mind and put in Tomb Raider instead.

What the hell.

* * *

Out on the streets the Batmobile cruised the shadier parts of the city, car windows blacked out, engine emitting a low and threatening rumbleroar.

Coming around a corner down by the docks the large car stopped as Batman saw what could only be stolen goods being loaded from a freight container into an unmarked truck. He hid the car about half a block away, switching off the lights and using jump-lines to gain the advantage of surprise, dropping into the middle of the loading crew. Kicking in two directions with a split jump and spinning as he landed, punching the three remaining longshoremen, he took out the entire crew inside of thirty seconds. Calling the contained criminals in to GCPD he left the scene to pursue the hunt for more.

Continuing over to the park section of the city, he again stashed the car, prowling through the dark trees and lawns until he found what he expected; a large drug deal in mid sale and exchange. Three dealers were getting their goods from a supplier, fifty kilos of high grade cocaine was changing hands, over a million dollars being paid with a likely ten to twenty-fold increase when it hit the streets.

The bust and take down lasted less than four minutes. Another call was made to GCPD. More criminals were locked up in a prison ward of Thomas Wayne Memorial Hospital.

Next he responded to an alarm coming from Gotham Art Museum across town. There was an exhibit of French Impressionists, Monet, Van Gogh, Degas, Manet, Corbet and others being readied; the building was hosting over a hundred of the finest examples of the genre in existence borrowed from museums and private collections around the world. Priceless, they would be this side of impossible to fence on any kind of open market. This had to be a black market ring for private collectors because once out of public view and hidden in homes and vaults around the world they would be almost impossible to recover.

Batman jump-lined to the top of the building, gaining entrance through the rooftop garden and making his way down to the second floor special galleries which had been set aside and readied for the paintings. Three guards were lying on the floor just inside the screens used to close the area off while it was still in set up. There were small puddles of blood under the clearly dead bodies and Batman flashed back to the blood running into the gutter from Selina last night.

The museum faded and his mind filled with the details he remembered about her, her laugh, her eyes, the way she would tilt her head as she teased him and led him on, the way she filled her tight costume. He felt the warmth of her hand in his again and heard the sounds she would make when they were close to one another and in private. He closed his eyes and saw her face when he leaned in to kiss her last month and felt her breath on his cheek then started as he felt a sharp sting when she slapped the other side of his face.

Angry at the reversal of her feelings and annoyed at the game she'd been playing for too long, he slapped her back. Somehow she recovered and hit him with surprising force in the middle of his back, causing him to stumble but managing to shift his weight enough to turn the slip into a spin. He kicked his foot up, catching her under her chin and causing her to go down again, just like she had last night.

The fight ended almost before it began and he fell beside her, just like last night, lifting her head; dropping it and hearing the soft, sickening thud as it hit the marble floor.

It wasn't Selina; it was one of the art thieves, dead and with his neck broken.

He checked the others.

All three of the tied guards were dead, shot in the head, execution style. The other two thieves were also dead, one with a broken back, one strangled.

Selina wasn't there, he'd been wrong. Selina was dead.

She wasn't there. She hadn't been there.

There were seven men in the hall.

Six dead men; three guards and the three men who'd murdered them.

And the man who'd killed them.

He hadn't. He wouldn't. It wasn't possible.

Retracing his steps he went back up to the roof garden, launched a line to take him back to the Batmobile and then home so he could figure out who'd killed the three thieves.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Too Far Gone**

**Part Three**

"Hey Bruce, you got back early last night; everything okay?"

It was breakfast, about seven in the morning and he hadn't slept but looked over to Dick sitting a few feet away. Raising the newspaper just a little, trying to hide the circles under his eyes, he half grunted "Fine." Since they were never what anyone could call chatty in the morning—or anytime if you just considered Bruce, he got away with it for now. Inside of five minutes Dick was up and gathering his school things, stuffing them in his back pack and getting his jacket out of the closet.

One bullet dodged.

"Forgive me, Master Bruce, but might I suggest your calling into the office and informing Mr. Fox that you will be delayed until after lunch today."

"Why would I do that?" He came close to giving Alfred the Batglare.

"Because you haven't slept in the last two nights and the effects are starting to tell."

"I'm fine and I would appreciate you keeping your opinions to yourself, if you don't mind."

Alfred withdrew from the room but Bruce knew him well enough to know that this was just the first salvo in this particular battle.

Driving himself to Wayne Enterprises he had time to think without the distraction of either family or work—either of his jobs. Selina was dead, that was a simple and tragic fact. He had held some hope and thoughts about their being together in some unknown future, spending time together, maybe even marrying, as farfetched as that might seem. Of course he'd likely have to wait until Dick was out of the house since he couldn't stand the woman and might cause trouble, but that would only be a couple of years. They could have waited that long.

Dick would be off to college; Batman and Catwoman could fight crime together, approaching it from opposite sides of the fence, as it were. They would solve cases together then go home and…

It could have worked. He was sure of it.

She was so close to giving up crime for him. No, they'd never actually discussed it but he could tell by the way she looked at him, how she would tease him, lead him on and by the sound of her laugh when she got away yet again. Even when he's arrest her they knew it was just part of the dance.

His mind went back to what happened last night at the museum; it wasn't in the morning paper but would be soon enough It would probably be all over the evening news and there would be questions and police wanting answers. For that matter, Dick would want to know what had gone down and he wouldn't be as easy to fob off as Gordon was.

It was odd, all those men being killed—odd that he had no idea who'd done it. All right obviously the guards had been murdered by the art thieves but the criminals, they were the ones he whose deaths confused him. Maybe he should have brought Robin along as back up, the boy was observant, he might have seen something he'd missed himself.

He ran through the likely possibilities in his mind; the men could have argued amongst themselves, it could have gotten out of hand. There may have been another person or persons in the museum he'd somehow missed.

Maybe there had been more than three members of the gang; maybe the others had killed their cohorts to make their own share of the reward or sales larger.

But he didn't understand how it happened without him knowing—that was what he didn't understand. Of course it was always possible he'd been drugged or some such, had his memory erased some how. It could have happened and was even looking likely. Odd. But had no memory of waking up or coming to. He didn't have any conscious memory of lost time, if that made any sense.

He pulled into the Wayne Corp parking garage, stopping in his own space. There was a Board meeting in a few minutes; he'd think about this later.

* * *

Around eight-thirty that evening, with the temperature hovering close to twenty degrees, Dick walked down to the cave. "Hey, you ready to go out yet?"

Bruce looked up from the monitor. "No, not quite. Why don't you go finish your homework and I'll call you when I'm done with this."

There was something odd about the expression on his face, enough to make Dick pause. He tried to find the right words before he spoke and knowing that there probably weren't any right words. "It wasn't your fault, you know. She just slipped on some ice by the edge of the building; I checked afterwards. You had nothing to do with it and it would have happened if you were there or not; there's no reason to beat yourself up over this—I know you're upset, but it wasn't anything you did."

Bruce nodded, seemingly in agreement with the boy. "I know, don't worry about it. Go on back upstairs, I'll call you in a little while."

About forty-five minutes later Alfred walked into the study where Dick was watching a DVD while he worked on some math problems. "I thought that you might enjoy some hot chocolate on a cold night."

"Thanks but I think I should be getting suited up for patrol."

"The master left almost half an hour ago."

Dick almost blinked in surprise but stopped himself. "You're sure?" Of course Alfred was sure. Alfred knew everything. "Did he say anything?"

"Not that I recall, shall I put the chocolate here on the desk?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks." Alfred left, leaving Dick to wonder why Bruce had left without him after saying they'd be going out together in as soon as he was done with whatever it was he was working on.

He went down to the cave, found the main computer off, booted it up again then ran a search in 'history'. Bruce had visited several news sites, looking up reports of Selina's death as well as reports of the dead men in the museum from last night. There were several stories about the guards and their families but the criminals were still unidentified, at least officially. Obviously they were there to steal some of the paintings, according to GCPD and based on the tools they had with them but what they'd do with them—or who would buy anything that high profile was just conjecture at this point.

The art case seemed to be pretty basic to Dick, aside from the fact that while it was clear the criminals had murdered the three guards, no one seemed to have any idea who killed the thieves. They'd been overpowered by someone (or some group) who was evidently skilled in hand to hand combat. There were no fingerprints, no clues other than that of the method of death. Nothing was missing from the museum; no entrances had been forced.

The guards' being killed was almost standard stuff, but who killed the killers? And while it was sort of an interesting case, why did Batman care enough to spend hours looking at the news reports?

And where the hell was he?

This was the second night he'd gone out on his own and while that happened, it wasn't like him to sneak out and sort of lie to Dick to do it.

Crap. Well, he was upset about Selina, but he was still Batman and he was conditioned to putting his personal feelings and problems on the back burner.

Shutting down the computer, Dick went up to his own room and picked up his secure phone. He started to dial Titan Tower but put the receiver down before getting through all the digits. His friends weren't the ones who could help him figure this out—_he_ was supposed to be the detective, right? Besides, no one knew Batman as well as Robin did. If something was up with the Bat, he was the one who would get to the bottom of what was going on if anyone was.

He sat on the edge of his bed, okay, Rob—_think._

* * *

In the sub-basement of Wayne Stadium, home of the currently in last place Gotham Knights, a meth lab was in full production. No one knew about the thing, or rather knew where it was. Lots of people knew about it; the cops, the buyers and, most importantly, the maintenance staff of the facility who took a twenty percent cut for their silence and cooperation.

Until now.

Without warning a small incendiary bomb was thrown through the suddenly exploded opened steel door.

Within seconds the room was an inferno; equipment, several million dollars worth of drugs, furniture and people were engulfed in flames.

There were no survivors. Nothing was salvaged.

There were no clues as to the manufacture of the bomb and no evidence as to whom might have been responsible.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Too Far Gone**

**Part Four**

Dick went down to Bruce's private study; Bruce wasn't expected home for at least three or four hours so he wouldn't—with any luck, be disturbed. He booted the laptop, put in Bruce's passwords and went on a search to see what he could find.

It didn't take long.

There is a separate folder under 'photos' were hundreds—hundreds—of pictures of Selina both as herself and as Catwoman. There were any number of articles scanned and placed there as well. Going to 'documents', Dick found more articles stored as well as what looked like cut and pasted e-mails between the two, love letters, jokes, flirting little IM's. It was as close as Dick could imagine to a high school crush if you could up the literacy rate between the participants and

Christ, what was he—in love with the woman? And since when?

Picking the security lock on the bottom desk drawer, he pulled out an album and slowly leafed through the pages. There were a series of cut and pasted and photo-shopped images carefully pasted into the book and telling the fictional story of a life together.

Here were early pictures, high school from the looks of them, showing Bruce in a football uniform and Selina as a cheerleader. A snap of her curled up on a couch holding a cat followed by a doctored image of the two of them at some zoo, standing in front of a family of cheetahs. College, both of them with arms around one another and wearing school sweatshirts proclaiming that 'Wildcats are number one'. Vacations on some beach, Bruce and Selina's heads on some other bodies.

News reports about Batman and Catwoman. Lots of reports about Batman and Catwoman.

Fake headlines about their courtship and wedding with Bruce in his new Armani tux, the one he just got a few months ago and Selina in some obviously custom while gown, cats subtly woven into the lace.

The last page of pictures were a pretend tabloid story about their Tahitian honeymoon, smiling at the cameras. Jesus.

He put the book back where he found it and looked through the rest of the desk, finding Bruce's mother's engagement ring in a velvet box. It never came out of the safe—usually, anyway but here it was.

Shaking his head, Dick was replacing everything where he'd found it just as Alfred came into the room, showing no surprise at seeing the young master going through Bruce's personal property and invading his privacy. "Did you know about this, Alf?"

"I had hints, yes, but it seemed to be fairly harmless, almost like an infatuation so I let it go." Alfred checked to make sure the desk looked as though no one had been near it.

"How long has this been going on?"

Alfred almost shrugged, but stopped himself just in time. "A year or more, I believe. It's been getting worse the last few months, though."

Dick was stunned by what he'd seen and just been told; he'd had no idea. None. But this explained why he'd been so distraught by her death. "Do you think Catwoman knew?"

A nod. "I have reason to believe she did, yes. She seemed to be amused by it and enjoyed tormenting him, leading him on and the like."

Dick just shook his head, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"And what would I have said? Add to that the simple fact that it, quite simply, was none of your business; if he wanted you to know, he'd have told you."

"I had no idea."

"Another reason not to say anything, wouldn't you agree? He was clearly functioning as well as ever; I didn't see it as a problem and something which would likely resolve itself in time."

"But he's not acting normally now."

"I would suggest, Master Dick, that you allow him some time to get his footing back under him. Be as quietly supportive as you're able and I suspect that he'll be himself soon enough. Now, I think we should both leave his study and I recall you mentioning some homework."

* * *

Bruce had told both Alfred and Lucius that he had some personal business to attend to, not mentioning what it was and neither of the men asking. In fact he had taken the old jeep, the one they used for plowing the driveway and hauling around the estate and simply driven, clocking in over three hundred miles of back highways and country roads before stopping by a field upstate. There was a herd of cows trying to get to the hay on top of the snow some farmer had thrown out for them and they milled around a smallish area to eat. Crowded together, Bruce wondered if they did that to stay warm or just to get as much of the food as they could.

He sat in the small car, dressed in a pair or jeans dating back to college and one of his father's old dress shirts. He hadn't bothered to shave today. His cell phone had rung at least a dozen times, he ignored it until finally annoyed, he'd tossed it out the window as he crossed a bridge.

Selina.

She'd been in his thoughts for months. He'd imagined, dreamed about a life with her, tried to think of everything he could that might make her happy. In fact, that was why he'd just made that donation this morning, seventy-five million dollars in trust to the World Wildlife Fund for the preservation and protection of the world's big cats. He had specified sanctuaries, breeding programs, upgrades of zoo facilities and lawyers to make sure that international trade of their skins would be outlawed. He'd also put enough layers between him and the money that it would be given privately and he remain anonymous; that had been one of the only conditions of the gift. Selina would have liked that.

He watched the field a little longer, long enough that the farmer came out to bring in the cows for their milking. The man walked over to the car and peered inside. "Mister? You all right? You been sitting out here a long time."

Bruce opened the window, "Fine, thanks. 'You mind if I sit here a while?"

"No skin off me, but wouldn't you like to come in and warm up? 'Cup of coffee, maybe?"

Well, "…If you're sure it wouldn't be an imposition."

"'Wouldn't ask if it was. 'You pull around to the yard and knock on the door, Martha will let you in."

"I'm Bruce, by the way."

"Tom. I'll be in as soon as bring in the girls here."

Twenty minutes later Tom found this Bruce person sitting at the kitchen table, laughing at something Martha was saying and seeming to having a high old time. "So, you just passing through or you from around here, Bruce?"

"You know how you have one of those days when you just don't want to go to work? I was in my car, headed to work and decided 'the hell with it'—turned right instead of left and found myself here." He picked up his coffee cup. "I think I made the right choice." He'd left Gotham without stopping to eat and just then his stomach sent out a loud rumble. "'Sorry."

Martha was up, checking on the chicken in the oven. "If you don't have anyplace better to be, you're welcome to help us eat this bird. 'Should be ready in another half hour or so unless you have your missus or somebody waiting for you."

"It smells great and no, no one's waiting. But you're sure I'm not in the way? Honestly, I can just go to that diner a few miles back."

"Oh don't be stupid. You're here now and you might as well stay, you don't look too dangerous."

He smiled, warmed by the welcome and the change from his regular life. "What can I do to help?"

"You ever peel a potato?"

By the end of dinner Tom and Martha believed that their unexpected guest was one of those wanderers who showed up now and again, either trying to forget something or to find something they'd lost. He seemed nice enough and had that veneer of manners you'd expect from some city folks. Well spoken, clearly intelligent and with the uncalloused, soft hands of someone who probably hadn't done much manual work.

But he seemed harmless enough.

"Y'know, Bruce, if you don't have anywhere else to be, I could use some help around here for a while. 'Since Brian—that's our boy—went off to that fancy college of his, I'm shorthanded. 'Can't pay much, but you can stay in his room and we could feed you, if that's all right with you."

The man seemed genuinely moved by the offer, taking a moment to regain composure before he replied. "I don't have much farm experience, but I'll do whatever I can to help for a while. Thank you."

A couple of hours later Tom and Bruce were sitting on the porch, sharing a couple cans of beer before bed. "You're taking a chance letting me stay here, Tom; you don't know me from Adam. I could be a serial killer for all you know."

"Are you?"

"Well, no."

"'Didn't think so. You need a job; I need another pair of hands. 'Isn't complicated. Go on and get some sleep, we get up at five to start the chores."

* * *

Two days later Alfred didn't admit to Dick that he was worried. While it wasn't unusual for the master to become scarce while he worked on a case, it _was_ odd for him to simply disappear with no word. Mr. Fox had called earlier that morning wondering if Mr. Wayne would be coming into the office today as there was a rather important vote of the Board scheduled. Several comments Dick made indicated that was as ignorant of his guardian's whereabouts as the rest of them, though he seemed unconcerned and to be taking it in stride.

The old jeep was gone.

A search on the tracking computer showed that Bruce had either removed the normal GPS locator, it was turned off or that it had become disabled. Calls to his cell phone were all sent straight to voice mail and unreturned.

Alfred became increasingly convinced that something might be seriously wrong.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Too Far Gone**

**Part Five**

"Are you sure you don't know? I mean, he didn't say anything to you about where he'd be working?"

"No, Master Dick, I assure you that I am in as much ignorance as you are. He left two days ago in the old jeep to do some errands and I've not heard from him since. I've also checked and the GPS device has been either disabled or switched off and there is no record of any charges on any of his credit cards, nor has there been any activity in any of his bank accounts from any bank worldwide." Alfred kept his face calm for the sake of the boy; it had only been two days but this time he was worried about Bruce. Heaven knew it was hardly the first time he'd disappeared for a few days or even a few weeks but since Dick had come to live with them he tended to be a bit more responsible about letting them know where he'd gone and when they could expect his return. They'd hadn't heard hide nor hair from him since early Monday, this was now late afternoon, Wednesday.

"But maybe we should…"

"Young sir, I'm as certain as you are that he's absolutely fine. Indeed, if he wasn't we would have heard; think about it—he would have the Justice League after him if they had the slightest reason to suspect that anything was amiss. Plus, as Bruce Wayne, he has the entire press corps of every civilized nation following his every romantic and economic adventure." He put the cookies and hot chocolate down on Dick's desk. The lad was really too old for such things but it always seemed to be his favorite comfort food and something he might subconsciously appreciate. "Now, if you would start on your homework, dinner will be ready in three hours and you know the master's rules about that. Hop to it, if you would."

Reluctantly Dick settled in to his history assignment allowing Alfred to get down to the cave and continue his checking into the whereabouts of the master. So far he'd drawn a blank, but he was tenacious and would keep at it until he had the answers he was looking for.

* * *

"You sure you never worked a milking machine before, Bruce? You seem to have a knack for it."

Bruce smiled, pleased at the unexpected praise. "No, you're just a good teacher, Tom, that's all and you know it."

He looked at Bruce's hands, soft, no calluses and with the remains of a manicure evident. "You know, I don't mean to pry but you ever do any thing with them other than pushing a pen?"

"Not much, no. 'Did office work, mainly."

"And now you're here milking cows." Tom was no idiot, he knew there was a story here but he had the sense to know that when—and if—Bruce decided to talk that was when they'd know it and not before.

"Yes, and enjoying it, too."

Tom didn't say anything; there was no reason. Men like Bruce showed up now and again, all of them seemed to have something that they were running away from. Either that or they were looking for something—or someone—they'd lost. They'd come around; some of them wanting work in exchange for room and board or a few dollars. They rarely stayed long though, so Tom figured that it wouldn't be too long before Bruce moved along as well. There was something different about him; he was smarter than most of the vagrants and he was better educated. His manners indicated that he'd been raised by someone who cared about such things and he had a way about him, calm, deliberate and considered that not too many people have.

Well, with things going the way they were, with jobs disappearing and hard times for a lot of folks it could just be that he was one of the ones who'd lost his job and was trying to find something to do with himself. Maybe he'd had a marriage go bad; he wouldn't be the first, Lord knows.

The one thing they didn't get from him was any sense of danger, even George, their old German Sheppard they'd had around the place for years had taken a shine to him and that didn't happen all that often. 'George didn't like you, you were taking your life in your hands to try to walk through the front door and that was the plain truth.

No, they weren't worried about him sleeping in the spare room. He didn't ask for anything, did whatever was asked of him without complaint and ate whatever was placed in front of him. He was pleasant enough company, if a little quiet and he was an extra pair of hands they needed.

He had his secrets, that was plain as paint, but then, everyone does, right?

As far as Tom was concerned, he could stay a while.

Later that evening, sitting around the dinner table, Martha brought what was on her mind. "So, Bruce, is there anyone waiting for you to come home?"

"'You trying to tell me I've outstayed my welcome, Martha?"

"You can stay as long as you like and you know it—too much work to do on this place for just me and Tom. I'm just wondering if you might want to be calling in or if I should just mind my own business…. I see you making faces at me, Tom."

"Well…"

"Oh, heavens. 'Don't answer if you don't want to, you've just got me curious, that's all. 'None of my business, I know. 'Just wondering, is all."

Bruce smiled, these were good people. "No wife, my parents are gone and I don't have any brothers or sisters. I do have a job, but I'm not really needed right now and I'm tired of it anyway. I was thinking of leaving the place, let someone else do it."

Tom picked up his coffee cup and took a drink, "'That what you meant the day I found you? You said something about just deciding to just get in your car and head out instead of going to work; that about it?"

"Pretty much."

"Aren't you afraid of your job not being there when you want to go back?" Martha refilled the cups.

"That's the thing, I'm not all that sure that I want to go back. I'm tired of it; having to be somewhere at a certain time, tired of people depending on me. You know how it gets, you work for years and then one day you realize that you're not all that sure it's what you want to do; you're getting older and there are a thousand things you've never done."

Tom almost smiled. "Like milking cows?"

Bruce nodded. "Well, yes, among other things."

In bed, later that night, Martha and Tom talked about their guest. "I think he's nursing a broken heart. Just look at him, handsome, fancy manners and did you notice that when he got here his nails were manicured? He's from money, I tell you and he hasn't said a word about a girlfriend. I think he's been hurt by some gold digger."

Sigh of exasperation. "Martha…"

"Well, I'll bet I'm right."

"Leave him alone; if he wants to talk about it he will. If he doesn't, it's none of our business."

* * *

The headline of the Daily Planet that Monday read:

_'Batman not seen in three weeks. Gotham crime stats up 34 Percent'_

_(AP/James Olsen) Questioned last evening, Robin declined to answer questions regarding the disappearance of Batman who hasn't been seen in almost a month, his last known sighting going back to January twenty-second of this year. There has been a marked and corresponding rise in violent crime in the Gotham area despite the Teen Titans and occasional appearances by both Superman and Wonder Woman helping the GCPD keep things in check. Commissioner Gordon, though also declining to comment on Batman being missing, insisted that things were under control and blamed the increase to normal fluctuations based on weather and school vacations._

* * *

Bruce had seen the paper but didn't bother to really read the article. All that was a different life, someone else's life.

Dick had Alfred and was probably doing just fine. Clark and Diana were filling in so the city would be safe enough.

Martha and Tom—the names had almost made him stop dead in his tracks when he first heard them, his parents names. If they weren't dead, if they hadn't been killed they'd probably be a lot like these people; kind, compassionate, hardworking. As the weeks went by they became his parents in his mind and he started to believe that this was where he belonged.

Gotham, Dick, Wayne Enterprise…it all faded further away. The only thing that stayed with him was Selina's death and that remained an open wound.

She should still be alive, taunting him, flirting with him and then deciding to give in to what they both felt for one another. She should have been the one. She was his. They should still be together and one of these days…If he closed his eyes he could see her, smell her perfume, hear her voice, her laugh. At night he dreamed about her. When he was working he felt her beside him.

They would be together.

They would.

Tom became used to hearing Bruce moving around in his room late at night and sometimes would hear him go downstairs and outside, wandering the fields for hours. He assumed that the man was working out his demons, thinking about that girl he'd once mentioned having 'lost'. Of course that could mean anything; she might have walked out on him, married someone else, decided to take the veil and join a convent, hell, she could even have died if you wanted to get melodramatic about it.

Well, he was bright enough and would get his feet back under himself soon enough.

He and Martha couldn't help wondering about him, though. He'd just given his name as Bruce Thomas when they'd first asked and thought nothing about it one way or the other. It was a common enough name, and would be the kind that wouldn't stick in anyone's mind for long—of course the man would stay in your thoughts, but there you go.

Something happened to knock this boy way back into the wings and that's all there was to it but everyone loses people—it was just a part of life. You grieve, you come to grips and you move on. That's the way it was supposed to work.

"Bruce, there anyone at home waiting to hear from you?" Martha would ask him things like this now and then. Tom wished she wouldn't but that was just the way she was.

"No, they're fine; they know I'm all right."

"'You been in touch?"

"If they really want to get a hold of me they can. It there were any problems I'd have heard—don't worry about me." He'd stood up, finished his glass of milk and picked up his jacket. "I'll start on the milking."

There it was; he did have someone at home waiting for him. It might not be this girl, but someone was there and might be worried about him. Well, he could run as long as he wanted but sooner or later he had to stop and then he'd have to deal with things.

Later that same night they heard his jeep start up and head down the driveway about two in the morning. He was back for breakfast and the early milking but his knuckles were raw and he had a bruise under his left eye.

Going into town for supplies and groceries, Martha heard the latest talk and gossip—Milly finally had that overdue baby, a nice big girl and Jimmy got into some fancy college for next year. There'd been another fistfight, a bad one, over at Mulligan's Bar and someone tried to steal painkillers from the drugstore but were stopped or scared away by something before they could get away with anything. In fact the police caught them all trussed up like Thanksgiving turkeys in Sam Hastings cornfield an hour later.

That was sort of interesting.

* * *

"Alfred? It's been almost six weeks; I'm really worried. I want to get the Titans or someone on finding him."

"…I think that might not be a bad idea, Master Dick."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Too Far Gone**

**Part Six**

He was taking one of his late night walks through the fields and the more that Bruce thought about it, the more it realized that everything really changed when Dick came on board. Before the kid was around he could do whatever he wanted, stay out all night, take off at a moment's notice, come and go as he pleased. There was none of those disapproving looks when one of his dated joined them for dinner or decided to skinny dip in one of the pools.

Then the kid moved in and was always hanging around, wanting attention, wanting approval, wanting, wanting, wanting…

Sure, he could be useful, but—what a pain in the ass. And the reactions from the Justice League; Christ, You'd have thought he'd thrown the kid into the lion's den or some garbage like that. He—Dick—he was capable no matter how old he was and they just didn't realize that. Of course as soon as he took on a sidekick, the rest of them jumped on the bandwagon—Arthur, Barry, Ollie, Diana—they all had their little helpers. Even Clark found some long lost cousin for God's sake.

But lately…yeah, lately. Dick was a damn teenager now and it showed every time he opened his damn mouth; always demanding to voice his opinions about this and that, always wanting to know why they were doing something, always butting in with some damn suggestion. Pain in the ass.

It was his own fault for taking him in, sure, but if the kid hadn't been the way he is…dammit. It was the kid. Robin—hotshit Boy Wonder blew it and that's all there was to it. He'd done it on purpose.

He had.

And that night—the night Selina was killed. The more he went over it the more he realized that it was Dick's fault.

He was still up on the roof; Dick was even closer to her than he was when she slipped on that ice. He could have reached her if he'd tried. He could have—he just didn't. He could have saved her. He could have if he'd wanted to but he was jealous and he always had been. First he was jealous of Kathy Kane, then Vickie, the Talia, Silver and under it all he hated Selina because he knew she was the one who would last. The others…well, but Selina, she was different and he couldn't stand that.

Fucking kid.

It was his fault. He could have saved her. He didn't. He could have stopped her but she fell.

This couldn't just pass. This was homicide. This was third degree murder. He could put the kid away for this.

But he wouldn't.

He'd get his own back. The kid had damn well watch his back.

* * *

"Dick, you know better than to worry about Bruce. If anything happened to him we would have heard, you know the paps follow him all over. He probably just paid them off to leave him alone for a while."

"And if something happened to Batman we would have heard from whoever was holding him, I know."

Clark was doing his best to keep Dick's spirits up but after almost six weeks without a word it was getting harder to believe that everything was all right. Even Bruce—who could be thoughtless regarding the people around him and who was practically the definition of stubborn, knew how many people were concerned about him. Hell, he'd never do anything to worry Dick—despite his demeanor and lack of showing his feelings, he worshiped the boy. "Tell you what, I'll look again and see what I can find out, okay?"

"Sure, that would be great. Thanks, Clark." It was said with about as little enthusiasm as you'd find. Clearly Dick was worried and starting to get scared. In fact Clark—Superman had already searched everywhere he could think of. He looked through all the major cities in the world, he'd checked every one of Bruce's many homes and apartments. He'd even looked through the registration records of every hotel chain and through the guest books of every B and B and Inn he could think of.

He'd come up empty. Nothing, no one had seen him, there was no record of his credit cards being used or his accounts being accessed. Nothing.

Dick had searched as well, checking every airline worldwide, using every name he could think of that Bruce would try. He'd checked the numbered accounts, the secret stashes of money and hidden credit cards only he and Bruce knew about. He checked the safe houses they used, he checked with the private airlines and charters. He'd checked with shipping companies, boat rentals. He asked Garth to find out whatever he could.

Nothing.

He'd even checked to see if any police department in the country had hired anyone even vaguely resembling Bruce, if he'd started working for a Private Investigator. He checked to see if any jeeps matching the old one was bought or sold.

Nothing.

He'd simply disappeared and wouldn't resurface until he was ready. He was Batman—he'd do what he wanted and he'd do it well.

It's who he was; it was what he did.

* * *

"Tom, I've been meaning to ask you—do you think hat Bruce is getting a bit…intense?"

"I've noticed that, sure—why, does it bother you? I mean, he hasn't done anything, has he?" He shifted his weight, standing there in the kitchen as Martha basted the chicken they'd be eating later. "He doesn't scare you, does he?"

"Specifically, no, but he does get awfully focused sometimes. It's like his mind is turning something over again and again; you've noticed that, haven't you?"

"You know how these men are, they all have something they're trying to work out. Usually when they'd got it figured out they leave, go back to wherever they came from. I suspect he's getting ready for that."

She closed the oven door. "I know he's been a big help around here, but he's starting to give me the creeps."

"'You frightened? I'll tell him to go if you are."

She thought for a moment, weighing her feelings against Tom losing the farm help she knew he needed. "No, let's wait a few days. Do you know where he is now?"

"He took off late last night; I heard the jeep pull out. He's not back yet."

* * *

Robin was still making his regular patrol, doing what he could to help and protect Gotham and occasionally asking various friends to help him out or just keep him company. Tonight Speedy was with him, hanging out and acting as a sounding board. Dick knew better than to listen t most of what he had to say but now and then he'd come out with an unexpected insight or observation, That was one of the things that most people didn't realize about Roy—he actually was pretty smart under all the bull.

They were down at the docks, making sure that drug shipment was stopped with some backup from GCPD. Suddenly Roy looked around.

"What the fu…?"

"What?" They were both whispering. "You hear something?"

"'Caught something out of the corner of my eye—you see anything?"

Dick concentrated—nothing. He shook his head. "Pay attention, here comes the boat." It was a speedboat, maybe a twenty-four footer and heavily loaded with packages of what was likely cocaine. "C'mon, let's go."

The cops were with them, along with ATF and some FBI guys. The bust was made easily without any gunfire of major resistance. IN pint of fact, the Titans weren't even needed, but then you never knew and better that they were there and not needed.

A little disappointed by the anticlimax, the two teens decided to stop for some food on the way home. They headed for their cycles, Dick had finally convinced Roy that a custom Ninja was the way to go and they were having a little too much fun on the things. In the alley, behind the dumpster where they'd left them they stopped and stared.

Roy's bike was fine and had even been moved a few feet away, apparently to keep it safe but Robin's machine was doused with some kind of acid, still smoking and hissing as the tires, wiring and paint all dissolved.

"Jesus." Roy just stared, the bike was toast. "Who did this?"

Dick eyes were on the machine, looking like he was almost in shock. "What?"

"You think this was one of the drug runners? We'll question them, lean on them; they'll talk, you know they will." Roy was pissed; he was ready to rumble in Dick's defense.

He shook his head. "No."

"C'mon, you're not going to let this go, are you?"

"You don't understand, the druggies didn't have anything to do with this. It was Batman."

Roy snorted a laugh. "Yeah, and he's in league with the devil, too. 'You telling me he's crossed over to the dark side of the force?" He stopped. "He's around? I thought the deal was that he's MIA."

"Off hand I'd say he's back."

"Rob, seriously, how do you know? I mean it's not like a lot of people wouldn't like to torch you. I don't see a calling card or anything here."

"He's been following me on and off during patrol for the last week. I didn't say anything because I was hoping he'd let me talk to him and find out what he's doing but he never let me get close enough."

Roy contained himself for once. "And you kept this to yourself because why?"

"Because I thought I could talk to him, that's why; back off."

Roy, of course, did not such thing. "So where is he?"

Dick gave him a filthy look. "He's probably gone back to wherever he's holed up and he'll be back when he wants to be."

"But—work with me here. You knew he's been bopping in and out of town for a while now and you didn't ask Clark to help, you didn't get a race on him and you didn't even let Alfred know. Have I got this right?"

Dick's patience was at an end. "You don't understand; he's gone into hiding for some reason, probably because of Catwoman's death. He's dealing with it and when he's ready he'll come back. Or he won't and there's nothing to be gained by forcing anything. I mean this is Batman we're dealing with for God's sake."

Roy got on his bike and gestured for Robin to get on behind him. "Okay, fine, but I'd be a little concerned about the message he's sending you."

* * *

At five-thirty that morning Tom walked into Bruce's room to wake him for milking. He looked exhausted but got up when asked. "You out late last night again?"

"'Couldn't sleep. I'm fine."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Too Far Gone**

**Part Seven**

Alfred answered the doorbell somewhat reluctantly. He wasn't expecting anyone and the service people always came around to the trade entrance so this was likely to be something he'd rather not deal with.

"Mr. Fox, what a pleasant surprise to see you again. What might I do for you?"

"Hello, Alfred. I need to see Bruce, would you get him, please."

"I'm sorry, but he's not in at the moment. I'd be happy to tell you that you were here and wish to speak with him if you'd like."

He didn't move. "Could you tell me when you expect him to be back?"

"I'm really not at liberty to discuss that, sir, however I'll be sure to mention your concern the moment I see him."

It was said—as always—politely but with firmness. Lucius knew he'd hit a brick wall as far as this went. "Is Dick here? I haven't seen him in a while either. Do you mind if I say hello to him?"

Alfred paused for the slightest moment, "Of course, sir. If you'll follow me I'll call him for you." Led to the main living room, Lucius spent several minutes looking at the art on the walls, the Monets and the Renoirs all purchased by and for the late Mrs. Wayne.

"Hi, Mr. Fox." Dick walked in dressed casually in jeans and a cashmere, dark blue turtleneck. They shook hands with the older man getting the distinct impression that Dick would like him to leave. Now.

"Good to see you again Dick. I was hoping you might have some influence in getting your guardian to favor us with his presence at the office. I don't think I've seen him in almost two months and, frankly, I need to talk some things over with him."

"He's not here."

"I know, Alfred told me but I was hoping that you could get a message to him." The boy didn't say anything. "Dick?"

"I'll tell him as soon as I see him. I promise." Dick remained standing and was clearly anxious to get on with his evening. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I…"

"…Have things to do. All right, take care of yourself and please tell him I was here." Lucius left, convinced that neither Dick nor Alfred knew where Bruce was or when he'd be back and for the first time since he'd disappeared, he was worried.

* * *

"Bruce, you finished with those cows already?"

"Just done, 'There anything else you need done?"

Tom smiled, Bruce was working out better than he could have hoped and he was glad to have him here. It was good to have another man to talk with, too. He loved Martha but she had her point of view and that's all there was to it. "Let's get some breakfast before we move on to fixing that fence, okay?"

"'Sounds good, Tom, I'm hungry this morning."

They started back to the house. "'Late night? You have a girl stashed somewhere you're not telling me about?"

Bruce's face went hard for a second before he laughed. "Me? Who'd have me?"

* * *

Back upstairs, Dick knew there was something different about his room and that was why he was so brusque with Lucius. It wasn't on purpose, but he'd just noticed things when he'd been called down. He looked around until he found what it was; there, right on the top of the bookcase. It was his old scrapbook, the one his parents—well, really his mother, had made with the Flying Grayson's clippings. It was out of place. He carefully reached up and pulled it down then, sitting on the edge of his bed flipped through the pages, horrified as he turned the pages.

Every image, every picture, every ticket stub and program, every PR shot, every costume swatch, every saved fan letter was marred. The personal family pictures were equally destroyed; everything was torn, slashed, written on, soaked in ink; unreadable, unrepairable, ruined beyond repair.

Dick was stunned, angry, hurt, crushed and disbelieving. Who? How? When? Why?

Looking further around the room he saw other, subtle damage. His computer's wires were cut. The screen to his TV was scribbled on with marker. His favorite jacket was slashed, still hanging on the back of his desk chair. The framed Flying Grayson poster over his bed had it's glass cracked in a top corner and some liquid had, somehow, been forced in, marring the print.

Devastated, close to tears of anger and frustration just sat on the bed, wondering how this could have happened.

It was Bruce. It had to be Bruce but what the hell was going on?

* * *

"So Ollie, any word from the Bat? He hasn't been to a meeting in a couple of months; what's he up to?"

"'Don't know, Barry. It's not like we hang out, y'know."

"Y'think he's still upset about Catwoman taking that bellyflop from that building? He had a thing for her, didn't he?"

"The Bat falling for a woman on the dark side of the force? Yeah, right."

"'Wouldn't be the first time it's happened." He stopped. "Well, not to _him_, no but still. You know those bad girls have their charms."

"So you're saying those rumors about him and the kid aren't true?"

"Not funny, Ollie. Seriously, not funny."

* * *

Tom was beginning to have major concerns about Bruce. He was still a good worker and a welcomed extra pair of hands, but he was changing and not, it seemed, for the better. For one thing he was getting way the hell too intense about everything. When old Maryellen, a good producing Jersey they'd had for fifteen years, had to be put down the man seemed to take it as a personal affront and muttered something about 'murdering an old friend'.

Bruce'd taken the old shot gun from the den wall and blasted an empty shed until it looked like Swiss cheese, then come back inside, apologized and spent the next few days repairing the thing. He'd been quiet and touchy for a couple of days after that and kept to himself.

It was a bit much; this was a working farm and they dealt with this sort of thing all the time. The man had to learn to cope better than that.

Then there was the business about his walking the fields and taking off in his jeep for hours at night, often not coming in until close to dawn with no explanations. All right, sure, he didn't really owe them any explanations but it was still odd night after night.

Then there was the whole privacy thing. Okay, the man deserved his privacy as much as anyone, but the day Martha tried to do him a favor by washing his clothes for him, you'd have thought she'd burst in and strip searched him instead of just going into his room to pick up dirty clothes.

And that was another thing, the man was as secret as the damn CIA, for God's sake. Tom wasn't stupid; he knew damn well who Bruce Thomas Wayne was. He might live on a farm in the boonies, but they had a TV and he knew his way around a computer as well as the next man. You had to when you were trying to run a small business.

He'd figured that one out a couple of weeks after he'd arrived on their doorstep and then he'd had Steve over at the local police station run his plates and found out the jeep was registered to a Bruce T Wayne of 1 Brixton Lane, Brixton, New York.

Bruce Wayne, multi-billionaire, owner of Wayne Enterprises, well-known lady's man and someone who'd been dodging those rumors about some teenaged kid for years. Hell's bells, you practically couldn't open People magazine without seeing his face plastered on some story.

About the only thing Tom didn't think about was why the man was in his guestroom; people have a million reasons for wanting to disappear for a while and that was none of his business. There weren't any suggestions that he was hiding from the law or that he'd done anything wrong. Maybe he just wanted a challenge. Maybe he wanted to see how the other ninety-nine percent of the world lived. Maybe he was tired of the rat race. Maybe he liked arm work. Maybe he was curious about what it was like to be a nobody.

It didn't matter why he was here as far as Tom was concerned. Bruce wasn't trouble, he hadn't harmed anyone so far as he knew and he was usually good company.

But it was still damn odd and the man seemed to have some demons that needed to be worked out.

* * *

"Clark? I'm really sorry to bother you, but do you have a couple of minutes? I mean I can wait if you're busy, but I was kind of hoping…"

"No problem, Dick. You know you can always call me. I'll be right there." And he was, in less than five minutes Clark was sitting with Dick in the conservatory adjacent to the indoor pool, talking.

"I know you know where he is, I know you've been keeping an eye on him but I don't think you're aware of some of the things that have been going on." Dick told him about the ruined stuff in his room, about the destroyed bike and the feeling that he was being watched and followed.

"Roy spoke to me yesterday, he's concerned about you, so are the Justice Leaguers."

"I'll be okay…"

"Hear me out, please. Bruce isn't that far from here; he's upstate working as a hired hand on a small dairy farm."

"You're kidding."

"Dick, please. You must realize that as soon as he went missing I was made aware of it. When 'things' started happening I made a point of finding him. I've been watching him the last few weeks and I'm convinced that Selina's death has finally driven him over the edge. You know better than I do how close he's always been there, certainly as long as you've known him. He's never come to grips with the Wayne's deaths, thus the whole Batman persona. When he brought you into this house he was much better for a long time, for years. You were the perspective and the lightness to his darkness that he needed."

"I know that but…"

"I'm convinced that he's become psychotic, at least temporarily and is blaming you for her death."

"But I had nothing to do with…"

"I know that, so do you, but that's not what he believes."

"So that's why he's wrecked my stuff, to get even?"

"Partly, yes, but I think that, more to the point, it's a warning."

"Of what?"

"That if he isn't reined in or gets help, he may well try to kill you."

Dick blinked a couple of times. Bruce try to really hurt him? Never happen. Not in this world, not never. "Seriously…"

"There have been other things happening I know you've been kept unaware of. Someone with inside knowledge went through Bruce's private office and the hard files kept there. His e-mail accounts and his personal computers both in his office and here in the study have been used in the last two weeks."

"He was here in the house? Are you kidding me?"

"Dick, this is Batman we're dealing with. I'd like you to move out of the Manor for a while, until this is resolved. It's for your own safety."

He considered then nodded his head. Jesus, Clark was probably right. Or he might be, anyway. "I'll go over to the Tower."

"Too obvious. I'd rather you stayed with me."

"What about Alfred?'

"I don't think he's in any danger, at least not at this point. I'll keep watch, of course, though. And he can't know where you are. I'll let him know you're safe, but that's all he needs to know now; for his own safety."

"Clark, c'mon. Bruce wouldn't ever hurt me or Alf. He just wouldn't." He stopped, paused for a few moments while he mentally reviewed the last couple of months. "Okay, just let me get some stuff and we'll go."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Too Far Gone**

**Part Eight**

"So, 'don't mean to pry, but you've been kinda down in the dumps for the last few days; something on your mind?"

Bruce gave Belle a final pat in the neck and moved on to Ginny, a good-looking Jersey. "I don't like to bother people, Tom. You know how it is."

"Sure, but it don't take a genius to see something's bothering you. ' and yeah, that's the way it is. You want to talk about it, I'm all ears."

Bruce paused, getting the cow hooked up to the milking machine and then turned back to Tom, who was calmly waiting for him to make his move. "It's complicated."

"A lot of things are."

There was a long enough pause that Tom though Bruce was going to keep his secrets until he finally spoke up. "My son is responsible for killing the woman I was in love with." It was said flatly, matter of factly and without emotion. "I came up here, upstate I mean, to come to grips with it."

Of all the things the man could have said, that was about the last. Bruce Wayne had a son? Sure, he had that kid all the rumormongers squawked about, but a real son? A flesh and blood son? That was new. "Where's the boy now?" Tom was half expecting Bruce to say the kid was sitting in juvie and that sounded like a pretty major complication. Of course, even up here in the boonies they likely would have heard if some kid was suspected of killing a woman a high profile guy like Bruce Wayne was interested in. 'Could just be Bruce talking pie in the sky.

"He was at home, now I think he's staying with someone; he wasn't there the last time I called and he hasn't been in school for a couple of weeks." Okay, he meant 'call' in the British way, as in dropping in but Tom didn't have to know everything.

"'You think he's hiding from you or the law?"

"That would be my guess. I suspect some friends of his may be helping him, but he'll have to show himself sooner or later; it's inevitable."

"Wait, you mean a real son? I never thought of you as the father sort—no offense or anything."

"Adopted, well, my ward if you want to get technical. He's been with me since he was eight and I swear to God, I never thought he would be capable of something like…" He shook his head in what seemed to be sadness and disbelief. "I'll find him, though. There aren't that many placed he'd go."

"'And then what?"

"And then I'll have to have talk with him, I suppose."

Tom was hoping the kid was well hid and had a good head on his shoulders.

* * *

"I agree Alfred, we have to try to get through to Bruce, find out what's going through his mind and then just take it from there. Are you sure you know where he is?"

"I don't, no, but Master Superman informs me that he has some strong suspicions and so I am willing to assume that he knows exactly where the Master is."

"And Dick?"

"All I'm being told is that he's somewhere safe and after I saw the condition of his belongings, I believe that's for the best."

"Yes, I agree but it's just so unlike Bruce; he loves Dick, we've both seen how much. Unless he's actually become psychotic…Are you sure he's the only possibility?"

"Leslie, my dear, if I could think of any other possible culprit I would gladly share that with you, but no one else has the access to the Manor he does. No one else would be able to get in and out without being noticed and no one else had the motive—faulty as his reasoning seems to be at the moment."

Leslie Thompkins was nothing if not matter of fact and she nodded. Yes Alfred, as always was right. Bruce seemed to have finally lost his grip on reality and Dick was catching the dangerous fallout and blame; they had to act to derail this before it was completely out of control.

"I often thought that Dick was the only thing that kept his sanity all these years. If he's decided that Dick's no longer to be trusted or has betrayed him I'm really frightened for them both."

Alfred agreed, Bruce had saved Dick when his parents were killed, but Dick's presence had saved Bruce just as much, if not more.

* * *

"Dick, I want you to stay here for the rest of the day."

"C'mon Clark, you're not serious, are you?"

"I'd just feel better if I knew where you were, that's all."

Dick knew the score, he wasn't born yesterday and he wasn't a rookie, no matter what his age was. "'You think that Bruce is going to try something, don't you?"

Of course Clark knew Dick was too savvy to let this just lay there. "I suspect that he may, yes, so stay here, all right?"

Dick shook his head. "I know him better than anyone; I can talk to him."

"…He's not himself. I'd be happier if you let me handle this." Clark paused to let his words sink in. "Will you just do this for me?"

"I'd like to at least try. You know he always listened to me when he wouldn't give anyone else the time of day."

"Not now. No." Superman disappeared out the window faster than the human eye could follow, leaving Dick alone with his thoughts. He understood the risks better than anyone did; he was Robin to Bruce's Batman, right? He knew the man, followed his logic and his reasoning, was clued in to how his mind worked and always could anticipate what to do and when.

He also knew that Bruce wasn't himself and that, if he wanted, could and would kill anyone he thought was a threat to him or anyone he cared about.

There were people—good people working on this and if Superman, the Justice League, Alfred and God knew who else were on this, then he probably wouldn't really be needed, right?

But he was the one who knew the man best.

Dick looked out the window Clark had just used. The doors to the apartment were all locked with security no one short of an alien invasion could bypass, but Robin could fly…

* * *

"I swear Tom, Bruce is making me nervous lately; have you noticed anything, have any idea what his problem is?"

"You know how he gets Martha, he has this pressure cooker that builds up and he needs to let off some of the steam now and then, that's all. He'll be all right."

"Well, I'm glad you're so sure."

In fact Tom believed that Bruce was dangerous if he chose to be and that if he'd crossed the line or thought he had reason enough, he could do some major damage. It was only this certainty that had kept him from suggesting that it might be time for the man to move on; he was concerned what might happen to the farm or, more importantly, to him or Martha.

There was more to Bruce Wayne that the tabloids and the society pages knew and Tom was afraid a lot of it wasn't good. The man had an intensity about him that could turn dark without warning. He was a large man, strong but intelligent and that was a dangerous combination if used the wrong way.

Tom admitted it to himself; he was becoming afraid of the man and wanted him gone. He just didn't know how to go about it and keep him and his safe.

He was scared and that was something he hadn't been in a very long time.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Too Far Gone**

**Part Nine**

Alfred was just about to leave the house, go out to the car and meet Leslie. In fact, another twenty seconds or so and he probably would have made it.

He didn't even hear Bruce, but then the man could move with close to total silence when he wanted to and that was a fact. The first he knew that he wasn't alone was when the hand closed around his mouth and another pulled his arm up behind his back hard enough to immobilize any attempts at escape.

"So where's he hiding?"

No answer. His arm was pulled a fraction of an inch higher. The pain was intense.

"I assume that you know. You always know everything, right?"

No answer, the arm was pulled just a bit more.

"You do know I'm capable of snapping the bone, don't you? Of course you do." They waited a moment, letting Alfred feel the pain a few more long seconds. "He's not here so he's with someone you'd consider safe. The Titans? Diana? Underwater with Arthur? Clark? Kara? In Gordon's spare room? Shacked up with Barbara again—you didn't think I knew about that, did you? I knew. I knew as soon as it started, just like I know about you and Leslie. Now, I really think you should tell me, Alfred; you know I'd really rather not hurt you."

The old man knew he was overmatched and so feigned compliance when he relaxed his muscles and seemed to sag from pain. He felt both hands on him loosen just a bit. Spinning as quickly as he could, he broke Bruce's hold and kicked the taller man in the gut, hard enough to double him over and knock the wind from him. Alfred used the side of his hand to rabbit punch Bruce's exposed throat, just off center enough to not collapse either his windpipe or his larynx but rendering him useless for a full thirty seconds. By the time Bruce was able to move and breathe again, he was handcuffed to the brass foot rail of the counter and relatively helpless for at least several minutes before he'd be able to free himself.

"You know that I'll find him, Alfred. It's just an matter of time; this is just a minor inconvenience."

"Bruce, please. The lad has done nothing to you other than to follow your every request and order. He has done everything humanly possible to prove his respect, loyalty and love for you and your 'mission'; furthermore, if need be, I shall make sure that he remains safe through whatever means are necessary."

"Well, Alfred, that would be a mistake."

* * *

In Clark's apartment Robin checked out the opened window, knowing Superman wouldn't just leave Robin alone with an obvious way out if he wanted him to stay put. This was way too easy; shoot off a jumpline and he'd be half way across the city in a couple of minutes and so he was studying the opening, knowing there was more to it than there seemed to be.

Taking a Kleenex from a box on the coffee table, he wadded it up and tossed it then jumped back at the small explosion. Of course. Clark had wired the window with a high voltage force field in case anyone tried to get in—or, in this case, out. Damn.

He'd already checked every other entry point; the front door, the door leading up to the roof, all the other windows, the garbage chute...nothing. Clark, no surprise, had thought of everything. Okay, there still had to be something he could do. Bruce would never hurt him; he simply wouldn't, no matter how stressed or wacked he may be. It just wasn't in the cards and nothing could make him believe that it was or ever could be.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket he hit the contacts list and then pressed number nine; Linda Danvers. Linda would help; they were friends and had been for years.

"Hey, Linda, 'you busy?"

"Rob? Why?" She sounded suspicious.

"I'm over at Clark's and he had to go out and forgot to give me the security code to get out of here. You want to come over and spring me so I can go home?"

Linda knew better, she also knew that Clark was trying to protect Robin from Batman for some reason. No way was she going to get in the middle of this. "I'd like to help but you know how much Kal hates when someone goes into his place without him knowing. He has a real thing about privacy."

"Linda, c'mon—help me get out of here." He was getting annoyed and didn't have time for a debate about this.

"I can't—I'm really sorry, but you know I can't go against Kal. Honestly Rob, I just can't." He heard the connection be cut off and swore under his breath. There had to be some way out of here.

* * *

"Tom, where did Bruce take himself? I heard his jeep pull out before breakfast; didn't he promise to help you move that load of hay into the loft this morning?"

"He will."

"Not if he isn't here, he won't. I swear, I like the man but if he isn't reliable I think that you may have to simply find someone else, no matter how famous and fancy he may be. I mean seriously…"

"I'll have a talk with him as soon as he gets back."

"Well, I hope you do, is all I can say." She turned back to the meatloaf she was about to put in the oven and Tom went out to the main barn to deal with the late milking and then move the damn hay.

Something was going 'off' about Bruce and that was a fact. He'd been a bit too wound up since the day he showed up sleeping in his car. Instead of relaxing with the mindless manual labor he'd wanted to do, it seemed like it was just giving him too much time to think and that wasn't turning into a good thing. There'd been that day last week when Tom had gone in to see how the new calf was doing, the one born a bit sickly and he'd heard Bruce talking to the animal. Now Tom would talk to the girls himself now and then, but Bruce was venting about 'that Goddammed kid' over and over again, saying how he'd ruined everything and how he wouldn't get away with it.

It wasn't so much what he as saying, hell, there were days when he talked to the cows about Martha, truth be known. This was different, though. This was real anger, the kind that got people killed or put in jail; _that_ kind of serious anger and that ain't good.

Tom almost said something right then and there but something had made him back off and leave the barn as quiet as he'd gone in. He wanted to help the kid Bruce was talking about, this 'Dick' kid, but when he'd called information for Bruce Wayne in Gotham he was told there was no listing. Not surprised, next he tried Wayne Enterprises and ended up talking to some flunky who'd been damn rude and then hung up on him. Upset, he'd done a search on the computer and found out that Wayne really lived in one of the hoity-toity rich towns outside of the city, a place called Brixton and tried information there. To his surprise he found a listing but when he called, all he got was another secretary who wasn't any easier to get through than a brick wall. The snip had assured him that Mr. Wayne was probably sitting in his office right that minute and that his protective attitude to his ward was common knowledge so she was sure that young Richard was just fine but thank you for calling.

Except that Bruce Wayne had been working as a farmhand with his dairy herd for the last six weeks and was getting scarier and scarier.

* * *

"Alfred, I'm not sure this is a good idea. If Bruce is as troubled as you seem to believe I think you should call in people who are more equipped to really deal with him than you are."

"The JLA, perhaps?" She nodded. "No one knows him as well as I do, no one knows his habits and how his mind works like me. If anyone can talk to him, convince that this is wrong and that Master Dick isn't to blame for his loss, it would be me.

"But you know how he can get. He can be…dangerous." Leslie wasn't convinced and she was frightened for Alfred. "But if Dick is safe somewhere, wouldn't it be better to just give Bruce time to think things through and calm down on his own?"

"Sadly, he's had time to calm down and all that's happened is that he's evidently become more firmly entrenched in his belief that the boy is blame for Catwoman's death. He must be stopped before he does damage; I shudder to think what he's capable of."

Leslie shook her head; she didn't like to think about an insane Batman either, especially since Alfred had changed his mind and simply refused to allow her to help him, insisting that he would prefer doing this on his own. What he really meant, of course, was that he was afraid that she'd be in too much danger and so he was leaving her behind. "Do you have backup you can call if he becomes too much for you?"

Alfred smiled at her, "You know he always listens to me, my dear. You're not to worry."

But Leslie knew better; maybe when he was ten years old he did.

* * *

The fire department used axes to chop the front door to Clark's apartment, rushing in with hoses, fire extinguishers and oxygen tanks for any victims. One teenaged boy, evidently the person who made the 911 call, was holed up in the main bedroom behind a closed door, a wet towel stuffed under the bottom to keep the smoke out. Luckily he was uninjured and required no treatment from the paramedics. The building manager said the apartment had been rented for about eight or nine years by Clark Kent, a reporter for one of the local TV news stations and that he was polite and quiet, a model tenant.

Mr. Kent ran up to one of the firefighters. "Hi, I just got a call about a fire at my place? A friend was inside, is he…?

"The boy? He's fine, Mr. Kent, no injuries at all. In fact he was standing over there a couple of minutes ago but I guess he left. He gave a report to the cops, though if you want to talk to them; they may know where he is; don't worry, though; he wasn't even coughing or anything. He's okay."

Of _course_ Dick was all right; he set the fire, called 911 and walked away as soon as the MFD was done checking him out and asking him questions. Using his x-ray vision, Clark looked around the area for a several block radius but Dick wasn't there. In fact, knowing the kid, there would be a check in the mail within days to cover the damage he'd caused to the apartment. He'd taken off, probably to try to either talk to Bruce or to stop him and neither one would be a good idea right now.

Bruce was blaming him for Selina's death and had built her up, rightly or wrongly, as the love of his life. He was determined to get some kind of revenge on Dick and, since this was an out of control Batman they were dealing with, Bruce could be capable of anything. The other side of the equation, of course, as that Dick thought he could handle Bruce, calm him down or possibly even subdue him physically if it came down to it.

Hiding behind a parked van, Clark became Superman faster than the human eye (or camera) could follow and flew off for the upstate farm Bruce had been hiding out on for the last weeks. Looking around the farm from a height of about a mile, he didn't see Bruce, just a couple, presumably the owners, going about their chores. There was a bedroom in the main house with what were likely Bruce's clothes in the closet and tire marks which matched that new jeep he'd bought himself a year or so ago. Dick had teased him unmercilessly about that; asking him if he was going to the rugged lumberjack look or if he was just slumming. At the time Bruce had laughed and told Dick to stick a sock in it.

That was another thing; sure, Bruce and Selina had some hot times together but to classify her as his one and only? Ridiculous. She was a wanted career criminal bent on a life of burglaries and mocking the laws and legal system Bruce spent a lifetime defending and enforcing. On top of that, her death, while unfortunate, was a simple accident. He'd gone to the scene himself when all of this started almost two months ago and the woman had slipped on a patch of ice. From what he could put together, rather than being the cause of things, Dick had been trying to help her, to make a grab for her when she went over the edge of the roof and fell to her death.

Bruce was flat-out wrong about Dick or Robin being to blame for what happened.

On another note and more importantly, Batman on the loose and edging closer and closer to genuine insanity bent on revenge against his partner wasn't something Clark wanted to contemplate. Bruce wouldn't stop until he accomplished what he wanted. Period.

Superman shook his head—Jesus, what a mess.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Note**: With full acknowledgement of Frank Stockton and his classic short story, The Lady or the Tiger.

**Too Far Gone**

**Conclusion**

Dick worked the computer keyboard at the Tower, hacking Bruce's main frame in the cave and using Bruce's passwords (which every good little Robin knew, of course) to get into his personal files. He was surprised that Bruce hadn't bothered to change the passwords, but since he wasn't himself, maybe it wasn't all that much of a surprise after all.

He didn't have any trouble until he tried to access the GPS unit attached to Bruce's jeep, unit number four. Ever one of their vehicles had one of the devices and they were all rigged so that they couldn't be disabled in case the cars, planes, boats were stolen or hi-jacked. Somehow Bruce had added a special added password to follow his own machines, dammit. Okay, thinking, trying eight or nine words that were dead-ends, Dick thought again then typed 'DARKKNIGHT'—bingo he was in. A map appeared on the monitor with a red blip travelling south down the New York State Thruway, approaching Gotham and crossing the Trigate Bridge over Akhram Island and then south through the city to Wayne Tower where it stopped, probably parking in the garage.

Keeping an eye on the blip on one screen and silently hacked into Bruce's personal computer with another machine, Dick watched as one search after another was conducted in front of him while he sipped his coffee.

The searches Bruce was running seemed random and, try as he may, Dick couldn't find any common thread to tie them together.

Flavors of Ben and Jerry's ice cream

Types of extreme weather parkas

Varieties of oncidium orchids

Roast beef recipes

Paint colors for Volvo cars

Life sized stuffed animals for children

Dressage saddles for horses

Old free maps from gas stations

And finally the search that hit home, a google image search for dead birds, with emphasis on dead robins.

Christ.

It made no sense and that was the point. Bruce was losing it. Bruce had lost it.

Finally, after several hours the blip started moving again, this time headed north up the Aparo Expressway, along the coast, past the sports complex, over the Bob Kane Bridge and stopped in Brixton at the Manor. He was home.

Okay, fine. It was time to deal with this.

Going out to his Ninja, Dick pulled on his helmet and headed out to confront Bruce. He knew the man better than anyone did; if anyone could get through whatever was going on in his head, he was the one to do it.

***

Alfred and Leslie, stuck in traffic caused by a ten-car pile-up, were headed to Wayne Tower; Alfred had called, spoken to Bruce's secretary and been surprised to learn that he was in his office for the first time in almost two months.

Finally pulling into the same parking garage that, unknown to them, Bruce had just left a few minutes before, they started towards the elevator only to have Clark Kent come up behind them. Leslie could have sworn the man wasn't there when they walked across from their parking space, but then with this group she'd learned to assume nothing and little surprised her.

"Mr. Kent, an unexpected pleasure, may I ask if you were on your way to see Master Bruce?"

"Actually I was here to ask you and Dr. Thompkins if you'd go back to the Manor. I think you may be needed there later today." He didn't add the fact that he wanted them out of harms way but Alfred knew what he meant; the game had changed venues.

"Excuse me? You have information we don't?" Leslie wasn't used to taking orders from strangers; even one Alfred seemed to accept without question.

"Forgive my abruptness, Doctor, but I have to insist you do what I ask. I'm sorry, but please." He saw her hesitation. "Bruce and are old friends, I'm trying to help him. Please."

"Alfred?"

"I think it may be for the best, my dear. I'll drive if you don't mind."

Leaving the two to get back under their own power, Clark flew to the Manor, searching through the building and the bedrock with his x-ray vision and finding nothing. Damnit—Bruce had sprayed lead based paint or insulation or something into every crevice of the cave he could reach, blocking his ability to see what or who was down there.

Circling around to the hidden Batmobile entrance, he was about to force the door when he was stricken by sudden and intense pain; Bruce had placed small nuggets of Kryptonite about the perimeter of the cave. He was stopped, at least for now.

***

Dick, in civilian clothing, made his way carefully down the main staircase into the cave; the lights were on, or some of them were anyway and there were pools of illumination here and there in some random pattern. There were no sounds other than the normal dripping of water and the occasional hum of the ventilators and air exchangers.

He didn't see or hear Bruce.

The main computer was on and the large overhead screen was flashing a slideshow of pictures of Selina, both the woman and as Catwoman. High school class pictures, mug shots, newspaper clippings, family snapshots. Flash, flash, flash, one image blending into another, over and over again. Hundreds different pictures went by on the screen, one after another.

Without warning he heard the snap and thunder of a large whip; Selina's or one like hers. The lash caught his right wrist, spinning him around, cutting his skin and drawing an involuntary gasp of pain. There was a lot of immediate blood and he has a flash of wondering if either his hand had been severed or if the artery was slashed.

"You killed her." Bruce almost stepped out of the shadows; Dick could just—barely—make out his profile.

"I tried to save her."

"You hated her. You were jealous of her and you killed her." It was said conversationally with no more anger or emphasis that you'd hear discussing the weather or the need to gas up the car.

His hand was still attached, but bleeding heavily. "You're right, I didn't like her, but I've never purposely tried to kill anyone; and you've known for years how I feel about you. I'd never do anything I thought would hurt you." He pulled his injured hand behind his back so it wouldn't become an added distraction for either of them. There was little pain, it had become numb and some part of him wondered if that meant there was nerve damage or if he was simply in shock. "I was glad to see that you were happy with someone." Okay, that was a lie, but it might buy him some time.

It didn't.

The conversational tone continued. "Now you see, that's one of the reasons I'm tired of you, Dick. You lie. You're a liar. I hate that, you know." He rubbed his chin and Dick could hear skin against stubble. "So you killed her and now you're here butting into my life again, just like you did when you killed your parents so you could leech off of me." Bruce coiled the whip. "I hate that kind of shit. I mean, seriously; you were working from the time you like three or something. You're capable of making your own money but you wanted to live the high life, wanted a free ride." He looked back over to Dick—he wasn't there anymore but the drops of blood were easy enough to follow. "This won't help, you know you can't compete with me."

Bruce almost shrugged then started following the blood trail. If nothing else, the kid would be starting to get weak from blood loss soon enough. There was no real hurry. He had all the time in the world.

A hundred yards away in a darkened part of the cave, behind the giant penny, Dick used a towel from the gym area to wrap his hand, slowing but not stopping the flow. He'd been injured enough to know a major injury when he saw one and this one was bad. It was distracting him; he had to focus on Bruce…

The whip crack caught him by surprise again, this time grabbing at his knees, tying around them and bringing him down. "Really, Dick; you know me better than this. I think you should just come with me and we'll have Alfred come down and look at that for you."

"I didn't kill her. I tried to save her."

"Whatever." He reached out his hand to help the boy up. "Come along now."

Dick allowed himself to be pulled up, the whip uncoiled from his legs and then Bruce guided him back to the lit area of the cave. "Now sit here and behave yourself."

Ever since Dick had first met and begun working with Batman he'd known there was only so far the man could be pushed before he'd explode. There were signs and clues he knew how to read so he knew when that breaking point was close, but this was something unknown. This dead calm and detachment weren't anything he'd seen before with Bruce and it scared him. Bruce had already made a decision and was following through the motions to fulfill it.

In a moment of clarity he realized that Bruce was going to kill him and without help there was a very good chance that he wouldn't leave the cave alive.

***

"Well, he was here, when did he leave? Where did he go?"

"Donna, if I knew I'd tell you, okay? You know how Birdboy is; he comes, he goes. He's fine, lighten up, willya?"

Donna made an exasperated sound and turned back to the computer; Dick hadn't bothered to delete history and so it was a simple matter to trace what he'd been searching for and it frightened her. She'd been privately worried for years—ever since Diana had sat her down and shared her personal evaluations of the various JLA members. She believed that Batman was as close to the edge of sanity as you could get and still be highly functional. He was smart, brilliant in fact, but he was obsessed and single minded to the point of fanaticism and she believed it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge.

According to what she was looking at on the monitor, that time may well have come; she was worried about and frightened for Dick. She'd tried to call him on his cell, she'd tried his radio and she's looked at the GPS he always had attached to himself somewhere and while he wasn't answering any of her attempts to get a hold of him, he was in the Manor. Unless he was asleep or in the shower or something, he always answered. _Always._ And if he didn't, Alfred did. Or in a worst case scenario, an answering machine.

There was nothing.

"I'm going over there. Are you coming?"

"Jesus, Donna, you know how they are; Dick's probably just working out and Bruce is probably getting laid. Leave them alone, will'ya?"

She stared him into submission. "Fine."

***

Alfred and Leslie pulled into the garage, hurrying into the main house. Checking the study entrance to the cave, they found the door locked from the inside and Alfred knew nothing short of a major explosive would move it. Switching on the intercom they listened for long minutes, horrified to hear what was going on below them.

There was a silence followed by the click of the intercom being connected from the cave location. "Alfred? So, listen, Dick and I are going to be busy down here for a while so don't worry about dinner or anything, okay?" In the background they could hear sounds of a struggle as if someone was fighting against restraints of some kind.

"Master Bruce, perhaps I could come down and give you two a bit of a hand with your current project."

"Oh no, thank you, though. We're fine, aren't we, Dick?"

"Actually I think I could use a little help, if that's all right with you." They could hear the strain in his voice.

"I'll be right down, Master Dick. Just a moment."

"No, don't, Alfred. I'd rather handle this myself. Why don't you pick up Leslie and take her out for a nice dinner?" His voice still held that detached calm. Behind him they could still hear the sounds of someone straining to get loose followed by a loud metallic clatter as something heavy fell on the stone floor.

Suddenly remembering and moving quickly, Alfred turned on the study TV, pushing some buttons on the media console and using the remote to guide the cave security cameras to give them a picture of what was happening.

Dick was tied to a chair, struggling, a pool of blood on the floor directly behind him and obviously his. His feet were tied together, his right hand behind him and his freed left hand grabbing frantically for a handgun at his feet—the source of the dropped metal sound a moment ago.

The light was poor and the images indistinct but they saw Bruce twist one-eighty on his heel and backhand the boy, knocking him from the chair to the ground and grabbing the gun in the same motion. His foot came down on Dick's back with just enough force to keep him pinned. He placed the muzzle against the back of Dick's head, calmly regarding the young man while he seemed to weigh the decision of whether or not to go through with the execution. Or, perhaps, just waiting for the right moment.

***

In the study Alfred heard a sound which caused him to spare a brief second to note that both Wonder Girl and Speedy were staring in horror at the screen and knowing they were too far away to help if Bruce was intent on murder.

More rustling at the door and Superman caught Alfred's eye and nodded. He was gone and a moment later the door to the cave was torn opened and he appeared on the monitor.

"Don't Kal. This doesn't concern you and I'd appreciate your fixing the door you broke and then going home." Bruce's voice was still as calm as it had been throughout the entire ordeal.

"Bruce, I'd really like if you gave me the gun; I know how much you hate the things. I'll get rid of it for you."

He seemed annoyed for the first time. "Kal, you've no idea, do you? Now we both know that normally you could just disarm me before I could react but since I've scattered Kryptonite around the place, you're probably not feeling quite up to snuff right now, are you?" It was true, Kal was in pain and it was getting worse by the second. It wasn't much yet, but it was enough that Bruce would be able to get a shot off before he could be stopped. "So you just go back upstairs and leave us alone, all right?"

Superman didn't move.

"I really would prefer if you did, Kal. As a friend?" He moved the barrel against Dick's head, ruffling the hair back and forth, playing. "Now, please." Superman a breath and shook his head in frustration. "I really think you should, if you don't mind. Oh, and I'd appreciate if you asked the Titans to stay upstairs, as well."

Outgamed, Kal went back up the stairs, the pain increasing the longer he stayed on Bruce's property.

In the study they watched the scene play out, a stalemate until suddenly and giving no warning, Dick spun on the floor, catching Bruce's feet with his own and knocking him off balance while Donna and Roy ran down the cave stairs, flight after flight.

The ninety inch TV screen showing the struggle indistinctly and in poor focus in the low light. Rolling, grabbing, punching, falling apart only to reconnect again, Dick's blood flowing freely again from his injured wrist and hand as he fought.

Up in the study they saw a heavy book—a police file? A phone book?—grabbed and flying towards the camera, knocking it askew and filming only dark stalactites while the sounds of the fight went on.

Alfred, Leslie and Superman heard the Titan's footsteps running into range, then a shot, reverberated off the cave walls, sending bats screaming and flying around in panic.

Then Roy's voice, "Oh Jesus... "

10/27/08


End file.
